


adonis

by deadbeatfreak99



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Cute Kim Jongin | Kai, Fluff, I Tried, M/M, Mentions of Shakespeare, Shy Kim Jongin | Kai, art major do Kyungsoo, confident kyungsoo, kind of fancy writing???, still don't know how to tag, theatre major kim jongin, very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-07 16:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20820206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadbeatfreak99/pseuds/deadbeatfreak99
Summary: ❝Isn't it funny how we all look for the same things, but very few of us actually find them?❞《In which Kyungsoo finds his Adonis, and Jongin finds his Shakespeare.》





	1. °prologue°

**Author's Note:**

> originally completed on wattpad 31/12/2018
> 
> link to spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/ltmv1akncmgjlstc4y6lcnhit/playlist/5tmxddfTfWwwBD1oLQjRND?si=PTx-no_zTZGju_3nj7esLg

_Hear my soul speak. _  
_Of the very instant that I saw you, _  
_Did my heart fly at your service._

✾≠✾

He adored colours, even if he mainly wore black, and he adored the chaos and vibrance of art, even if he loved silence.

Kyungsoo was the epitome of contradictions.

Many things he favoured.were often what one would imagine he hated.

His personal belongings were lined perfectly upon his chest of drawers, shoes sitting with their laces tucked inwards beside the door, and every trinket kept at a measured distance from the rest; yet his art supplies were in a disarray, paint brushes overflowing from that small cup which held them, carbon smudges dotting his sketchbooks' covers, acrilic stains on the rims of every one of his long sleeves.

Perhaps others found his lack of consistency unnerving, but Kyungsoo was well aware that there was nothing he could do about it.

He was the way he was, and if he weren't the way he was, then he wouldn't be who he truly is.

It was a fickle subject to ponder about and Kyungsoo didn't ponder much about it.

His spine ached from being seated on the wooden stool for so long, and his eyes stung from staring at the canvas before him for hours, but he had no intention of leaving until he had completed the piece he had started that morning.

It was nothing monumental, far from a magnum opus, but it captured the essence of autumn, the wonder that his favourite month presented each year.

His art professor was well-accustomed to his habits by then, staying after hours to continue his work until he was satisfied, and so it became normal for Kyungsoo to be the one to lock up the art room.

The class was large and turbulent with a disaster of easels and stools, wooden palettes and chipped cups used to carry water to rinse brushes.

As many environments Kyungsoo found homely, the art room was a mess of colours and marks, air heavy with the smell of paint and oil, certain times even dusty with particles of tinted chalk floating around.

It had been early afternoon when he had torn his gaze away from his work for a moment, noticing the faint sunlight filtering into the room and kissing every dark corner, illuminating his greasy skin and drying the blob of maroon paint he had on his palette.

He inhaled deeply, for the relaxation the scene gave him was something of spectacular, and then set back to work.

The campus was silent, not a breath in the distance nor the whisper of a voice, and Kyungsoo felt utterly alone, and he welcomed such a feeling.

He shifted his weight on the stool and adjusted his grip on the brush, momentarily recollecting himself and focusing on the imagery he had depicted.

Who knew how much time had passed? Who knew when the footsteps had grown closer?

The paint had enraptured his mind like a drug and didn't set him free until the door to the room opened almost delicately, hardly ripping through the quiet, but rather softly breaking it.

And then, above the flurry of colours his brush had set upon the once bleak canvas, his eyes fell upon that one person, and he knew he needed to capture such beauty with his own hand; the beauty of his Adonis.


	2. °one°

_But, soft! _  
_What light through yonder window breaks? _  
_It is the east, and Juliet is the sun._

✾≠✾

"Oh, I-I'm sorry. I tho-thought nobody w-would be he-here."

His voice was warm, low, tinged with shyness as the student with a face Kyungsoo had yet to have ever seen around campus, stilled by the doorway.

"It's alright," he replied, setting his brush down and wiping his hands clean on his button-up shirt, littered with old and recent stains.

"Is there something you wanted?"

The young adult shook his head before hurriedly changing his answer and nodding.

"Y-Yes! I me-mean, yeah. T-They to-told me some p-props had al-already been completed, a-and so I ca-came to bring t-them to the st-stage."

A theatre major who was so blatantly timid? Ironic.

Kyungsoo bowed his head once in understanding, then strode up to the front of the room, making the other instantly take multiple steps back, to get to the crates his colleagues had painted just the day before.

Glancing at the tall beauty to his right from his peripheral vision, Kyungsoo rummaged around until he had stacked all three, then stood straight to look at the man who had remained immobile, if not for his hands fiddling with each other, clasped in front of him.

"Here they are," he announced, smiling when the other's eyes snapped up from the ground.

"Careful when you carry them. . .?"

"Hm? Oh, J-Jongin! Ki-Kim Jongin."

"Jongin," Kyungsoo parroted, now beaming, "My name's Do Kyungsoo."

The taller nodded, showing he understood before mumbling a quiet, "Nice to-to meet you."

"Same here."

Kyungsoo swiftly turned on his heels and strode back to his abandoned easel, only letting his eyes settle upon the man when he had sat himself on the stool, and the bristles of his brush had met with the paint on his palette.

He watched in amusement as Jongin briefly struggled to balance all three props upon each other in his lanky arms, neck stretching so that he could peek over them.

Looking at his canvas, Kyungsoo maintained his smile.

"Would you like to be my model?"

A clatter of crates hitting the ground, a squeal and a shuffle of feet.

"Oh gosh, I-I'm so sorry!"


	3. °two°

_Oh, how this Spring of love resembleth, _  
_The uncertain glory of an April day, _  
_Which now shows all beauty of the Sun, _  
_And by and by a cloud takes all away._

✾≠✾

Not pity nor guilt had motivated Kyungsoo into helping Jongin with taking the crates to the theatre department's practice room, carrying one himself, but rather the want to see more of this turtle that so often retracted into his shell.

He spoke enough for the both of them whilst they walked, managing to keep pace with the other even if his much greater height meant larger steps.

"So, what do you think of my request?" He asked, swerving away from his rambles about unimportant topics.

"I have an upcoming project due by the start of Christmas holidays, so it would be great if you could give me your answer soon."

"Yo-You're talking about me model-modeling for you, r-right?"

Kyungsoo hummed, feet hardly making a sound in their worn out sneakers, soles pliable and thin with use.

"Well, it's fi-fine with me, b-but why wo-would you..."

His incomplete question hung in the air for merely a few seconds until Kyungsoo continued for him, a knowing look in his eyes he kept focused ahead, even if he could feel the latter's gaze upon him.

"Why would I choose you?" He supplied, immediately receiving numerous, small nods.

"Who knows? Maybe the paint fumes have clouded my eyes enough that I believe what my delusional brain suggests I see, or perhaps you really are what you appear to be," he went around a corner, arranging his fingers beneath the crate's edges.

"Either way, be it my illusion, I wish to capture it, and be it a reality, I wish to frame it."

Jongin's eyebrows furrowed, baffled but curious.

"I don't th-think I get w-what you're saying."

At the words, Kyungsoo sighed, one lacking any frustration or tiredness, rather one of someone who was accepting things as they were.

"I'm saying that your face holds something particular which I want to paint," he elaborated, straightening his posture when he saw that they were nearing the practice room.

"Particular not in a negative sense, of course. In a more mundane way of saying things, I find you attractive and want to test whether my hand can copy such a power, and lure others towards my painting, as your self did to me."

He came to a stop outside the shut door, voices and sounds of movement sifting through the glass and plastic, creating a background music to accompany Kyungsoo on his way to set the crate down, and turn to the man who had so silently followed behind him.

Jongin's supple cheeks were flushed, the tips of his ears too, and Kyungsoo found the red to look beautiful upon his tan skin.

"By the end of this week, please drop by the art room and tell me whether you're willing," he said, smile on his full lips and a glint of something Jongin couldn't place, in his eyes.

"You can come find me at this hour. I hope to see you again, Jongin."

And like that he left, and like that Jongin inhaled, skin prickling and mind hazy with confusion and embarrassment but woven with infatuation.


	4. °three°

_And often is his gold complexion dimm'd,_  
_And ev'ry fair from fair sometime declines,_  
_By chance or Nature's changing course untrimmed;_  
_But thy eternal summer shall not fade,_  
_Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st; _

✾≠✾

Every dent in his skin, every bump on his face, Kyungsoo's irises drank them in and reflected them onto his canvas.

The colour of sand under the early noon sun, that was the shade of Jongin's flesh. Smooth, lacking any imperfections or scars which would be left after years of living, years of mistakes.

It was an inhuman beauty, Kyungsoo believed, and his hand spent hours in the attempt of replicating it.

Jongin did his best to stay utterly still, but the intensity of the painter's gaze upon his body made his chest burn and yield to an unforgiving flame, and so he fidgeted on his stool, fingers picking at his flannel shirt's sleeves and eyes flitting about the room.

Despite his bashfulness, the silence between them remained untainted by discomfort, comfortably wordless as Kyungsoo painted and Jongin posed.

It was a scene which repeated itself a multitude of times, always around that hour, when the university was mostly barren and the sun was warmly caressing all it could touch before resting.

Jongin didn't mind the subtle pain in his lower back and didn't complain about it either, for certainly Kyungsoo was suffering worse.

When they came to share words, it was typically the shorter to initiate the conversation and the taller to stutter the continuation.

Questions such as how he got into theatre, what he loved about it and what play they were currently rehearsing for.

Kyungsoo noticed the glint of passion within Jongin's eyes which would show even from across the class, the way his tone became happier, steadier and the corners of his rose lips subconsciously turned upwards.

"It's like th-the feeling of being free but exposed. Thrilling a-and frightening, that rush yo-you get w-when you're about to fall but catch your-yourself in time," he concluded, eyes wistful as they stared out at the trees softly swaying behind the windows.

"I think tha-that's what I like most about it. Not be-being mys-self but fully transforming i-into another person, another creature, wi-with a different p-past and character, a story all-all of their own. Right now we're w-working on Macbeth. Do you - Do you know the storyline?"

Kyungsoo hummed, a faint smile on his lips as he had let the other talk on, Jongin's tender voice playing as soothing music dancing into his ears, hollowing his mind and filling his heart.

"A tragic play revolving around ambition and an unbridled lust for power, the metamorphosis of a hero to a villain."

He dipped his brush into a dark toned yellow.

"It follows Macbeth, a general returning from battle, who, after having encountered three witches with three prophecies, believes he has the chance to reign over the kingdom of Scotland."

His irises lifted and met with Jongin's own, entranced, wide and wonderous.

"Encouraged by his wife, he kills the current king Duncan, and earns his place on the throne; however, he soon spirals into a guilt-driven paranoia and madness. Is that more or less correct?"

A second passed then two, and then Jongin blinked as if breaking out of a stupor, and fervently nodded his head, lips subtly parted.

"Y-Yes. That's ho-how it goes."

Kyungsoo's smile stretched further and he proceeded with his work, studying the colours below the other's left eye, and settling on depicting them.

"Isn't it such an explicit representation of human nature? Quick to believe the truths which best suit us and easily driven to extreme lengths for power and wealth. Weak minded and corrupt at heart, people are all the same."

His words drifted into the air whilst his hand painted, expression still light and tone calm, as if he were to be discussing the day's weather.

Jongin blinked once again, long lashes fluttering like the wings of a young raven, and his throat moved with a swallow.

"I-I don't th-think I'm li-like that. No-Not everyone i-is that way."

The bristles paused their movements on the canvas, and Kyungsoo peered at the man with amusement in his gaze.

"Are you sure? I know I'm like that, for I'm not above any others," he stopped, glanced over Jongin for a moment and then sighed, returning to his work.

"But perhaps, should your beauty be faithful to that which nestles within you, then maybe you're right; there's a chance you might be uniquely different."

Jongin looked away, cheeks a cherry pink as his sight found home on the leaves waving at him from outside.

"You al-always speak in-in an almost th-theatrical way. Do you d-do it on purpose?"

The painter pursed his lips prior to swiping his tongue over the lower one, an action which went unnoticed by Jongin, just as the expression his face held when looking towards the model did.

"Not really," he replied simply, eyes tracing the shapes of Jongin's profile.

"I'm just long-winded in speech, I guess. Does it bother you?"

Jongin shook his head, gaze flickering back towards the other and shyly dropping to his lap.

"N-Not at all. I act-actually really like i-it. It's ni-nice listening t-to you."


	5. °four°

_For where thou art, there is the world itself, _  
_And where thou art not, desolation._

✾≠✾

It was something more so done on a whim, a way of staying close to the other and perhaps to taste the world of theatre for himself.

Kyungsoo had asked to participate in making the various props and backdrops needed for the show and the current team was eager to add him on, hungry and desperate for a new set of talented hands.

The backstage was constantly bustling with those rehearsing their lines, costume-makers taking measurements, and the crew discussing how they would set up specific scenes with the appointed director.

He could understand the intrigue of such a place, for it was brimming with excitement and life even if it wasn't the night of the performance.

Jongin was stood at the right wing of the average-sized stage, script in hand and a faint frown on his brow as he mumbled his way through his lines until another actor joined his side, startling him.

Kyungsoo watched from his spot, in the front row seats meant for the audience, as his model chatted with a colleague, occasionally nodding and signalling towards certain points on his papers.

His hand rolled the pencil between his fingers, round eyes sitting shamelessly on Jongin's face until he lowered his head to look at the open sketchbook set on his thighs instead, envisioning the image he would soon be sketching.

It took no more than a few minutes to get the lines down and ready, but he put extra care into the details and completion of the drawing, the strokes of his pencil being delicate enough to have not caused a ripple in water, should he do the same movement on its surface.

"Kyu-Kyungsoo? You're st-still here?"

It was the very subject of his art to direct the question at him, and he rose his chin to meet the other's eyes, with a warmth in his.

"Of course, Jongin. It's my first day as part of the prop design team and things are still being decided upon, so I didn't have much to do and wanted to see how life goes about over here."

"Ah, I-I see."

Kyungsoo flipped his sketchbook shut, tucking the pencil into the spine's rings and sliding it into the backpack he had laying unzipped at his feet.

"Contrary to how you are off it, you seem quite comfortable with yourself on stage, Macbeth."

The one standing glanced away, colour dusting his high cheekbones as he looked to the platform.

"I did s-say that I lo-love acting."

His eyes returned to Kyungsoo, a smile now on his mouth which made the artist's chest constrict in the most pleasurable of ways.

"Di-Did you join the prop team for. . ."

"Did I join the prop team for you? Definitely."

Jongin nodded, damp palms pushing into his jeans' pockets as he didn't speak again, for nothing was meant to be said.

And the theatre room became their second place of meeting, as the first remained to be the art class.

It was a cycle which continued － seeing each other constantly － one which made Jongin look forward to afternoons and Kyungsoo look forward to nights.


	6. °five°

_Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; _  
_And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind._

✾≠✾

"Isn't it funny how we all look for the same things, but very few of us actually find them?"

It had been perhaps over two hours since they had taken their seats and passed time in silence, and then Kyungsoo broke the fine thread of quiet with a low voice, eyes not drifting from his seventh artpiece dedicated to his model.

His project due for before the holidays had been long done at that point, so much so that he had numerous versions of it, each expressing a different angle or different pose of Jongin, in various techniques and colours, for no matter how often he painted and drew him, his hand never tired of it.

"You me-mean stuff like love, hap-happiness and success?"

Kyungsoo chuckled, playfully wagging a finger at the other sitting no more than a metre away from him, a grin playing on his lips.

"I actually meant a matching pair of socks, but sure."

And then Jongin laughed that incredible laugh of his, a chime of honey sweet bells and sharp breaths, a palm going to briefly cover his open mouth.

"That's really t-true though! We all str-struggle to find m-matching socks."

The artist shrugged his shoulders, carbon smudged hand incessantly working as his free one cupped his left knee, skin to skin, given the rip in his jeans.

It seemed they had become quite the talk amongst fellow university goers, as far as Kyungsoo had come to know about from his friends.

What was so interesting about him and Jongin spending time together, he had no clue, but a part of him, just a sliver of a fraction, hoped that it would suggest a series of things to any others, the main one being that Jongin was his model alone.

It wasn't that he was possessive, far from it. Being too controlling was dangerous and danger was definitely not what he wanted to put Jongin in, but it was that artist side of him which felt connected to his muse.

Should Jongin be shared, then Kyungsoo didn't know what he would do.

No, Jongin was his art piece, his water which diluted drying paint and brought it back to life － an evergreen tree in a forest of seasonal ones.

Kyungsoo didn't mean to say he solely appreciated the man's exterior, for the more time they spent together, the more he grew to understand he preferred the person Jongin was, to the person he appeared to be.

He was opinionated but respectful of others, always polite and ready to listen, full of passion and ideas, creativity within his veins and heat within his heart, desire to succeed and be great, driving him through life.

Unlike the Macbeth he portrayed however, his intentions were as pure as his soul, his ambition was as innocent and clean as the love of a child, and the glow in his eyes made Kyungsoo fall deeper and deeper into the well known as adoration.

He came to know Jongin's defects, for even if his skin was as smooth as silk, no marks on his supple flesh, his person had small scratches and stains, and Kyungsoo adored them too.

It was as he liked everything in his life; a part belonging to perfection and tidiness, and the other belonging to colours and disorder, emotions and ideas.

Jongin was a mixture of both, like the warmest of oranges obtained by mixing red and yellow with his fine-tipped brush.

"Do you know of Adonis?"

The model nodded, curiousity in his caramel eyes before answering.

"Of co-course. I love Greek myth-mythology."

Kyungsoo hummed contentedly, using the pad of his index finger to smudge a part of his carbon portrait.

"Then you will comprehend what I mean when I call you by such a name, for that was the first which came to mind when I saw you come into this room, a month or so ago."

He tore his eyes from his large sheet of paper, and looked to a flustered Jongin.

"However, when I said it then I based it off of your appearance. Saying it now, I base it off of you as a whole. An Adonis within a beautiful shell, a crystal within a gold casing."


	7. °six°

_All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. _  
_They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts._

✾≠✾

It was impressive how much one could change, simply depending on where they were.

Kyungsoo started to believe that everyone had their own two sides of a coin, diverse but united, and he came to appreciate it more when such a concept reflected back at him from Jongin.

He sat with his legs crossed on the wooden planks, paint buckets and brushes forming a semi-circle around him, whilst he painted a box to look as a chest of drawers.

As another couple of the prop design team members were, he was situated in his unofficial spot on the left side of the stage whilst the actors strode on and off it, speaking their lines and sometimes fumbling their words.

It wasn't by chance that Kyungsoo had chosen to work so close to where they rehearsed, for this way he could hear Jongin's velvety voice clearly, free of any stutters and rippling through his heart.

It was something which had initially almost left the artist gaping, the drastic difference between the Jongin who modelled for him, and the Jongin who acted for himself.

Words loud, emotive, passionate － they stirred sensations and dizzied Kyungsoo's brain more often than not.

"_Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing._"

Jongin swivelled on his heels and turned to look down at Kyungsoo who had remained in the same spot from hours ago, colours now closed and tools set away, but eyes focused on the other.

They often did it, stay behind until darkness fully cloaked the world and swallowed the shadows created by the delicate glow of the moon's light, even after all other members left the theatre room and the building was as mute as a cemetery.

Kyungsoo tilted his head as if to urge the actor to say that which he had looked towards him for, and Jongin's gaze flickered.

"Could you － Could you help m-me with a scene?"

He nodded, already setting his palms on the cold floor and using them to alleviate his body.

"Sure, but do know I'm not the greatest person to ask for help in your area of expertise."

Jongin shrugged his shoulders dismissively.

"As long a-as you reply wi-with Lady Macbeth's lines," he pointed to the green highlighted sections on the paper he passed the shorter, "you will be-be more than e-enough help."

His lips curved into a smile which held a certain level of innocence, and his shimmering eyes sent Kyungsoo on a voyage to discover the universe within them.

"If you say so."

The actor gave a nod and then set a greater distance between them, the expression on his face morphing as if by the flick of a switch, and Kyungsoo could have sworn his skin rose with goosebumps at witnessing it.

"_Methought I heard a voice cry _  
_'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, _  
_Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, _  
_The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, _  
_Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, _  
_Chief nourisher in life's feast, －_"

Jongin sharply faced the other, startling him into reading his response off the printed script in his tight grasp.

"_What do you mean?_"

"_Still it cried, 'Sleep no more!' to all the house: _  
_'Glamis hath murder'd sleep and therefore Cawdor _  
_Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more!_"

It was entrancing, the unison of the movements Jongin made with the power yet panic his voice portrayed, the terror stitched into his irises, into the very fibre of his every muscle.

Kyungsoo was enthralled, dark eyes enraptured by the sight and intrigue burning bright inside him.

"Uh, K-Kyungsoo? It's yo-your line now."

He fumbled, eyes snapping shut before reopening to look directly at the script grasped between his fingers, avoiding Jongin's own pair, for he feared he would be sucked in again without any mercy.


	8. °seven°

_It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves._

✾≠✾

An ocean, no, an infinite abyss of wonders and magic, promises of new worlds and incredible secrets; that is what the stars spoke of that night, luring souls up and towards them, attracting them to their immeasurable mystery.

Kyungsoo's head was cradled by his own palms as he stared at the midnight sky, black eyes drinking in the dazzling sight, hungrily.

Jongin lay beside him, position the same ignoring that one hand he set on his diaphragm, softly raising and sinking with each breath he took.

Those very breaths were all Kyungsoo could hear. Soft, tranquil, even breaths that fed his lungs and constantly reminded anyone present of his living existence.

Kyungsoo found himself drowning, eyes attracted as if by a magnetic pull towards the night sky, whilst his heart and mind edged towards the man abreast him.

One, two. . . He was counting Jongin's inhales, and he himself let out a sigh.

He turned his head to the right, gaze falling upon the shadowed figure laying just a scant fifteen or so centimetres away, features graciously accentuated by the white light of the moon hanging above them.

His eyes analysed, admired, and he had no conception of how long they had done it for, but eventually Jongin had looked to him, and their irises met, air catching in their throats, hearts radically beating before slowing down to match the peace around them.

"Your eyes have trapped galaxies within them," Kyungsoo murmured, noting the shimmer in the hazel stare blinking back at him.

He shifted, directing his sights to the seperate world overhead.

"Don't you think they are selfish for keeping such beauty to themselves? No, maybe I'm selfish for thinking you'd be solely my muse. Beauty inspires and kindness transpires, you have both and so I can't resist you."

"I-I really don't kn-know what you see i-in me, but thank yo-you, Kyungsoo. I wish I w-were able to speak a-as well as you."

The artist lightly frowned, looking back to his model, or perhaps his something greater.

"Why do you say that?"

It was a genuine question, for Kyungsoo tended to irritate people with his way of speech － which he honestly didn't care much about.

"Because I w-want to b-be able to make it-it sound like I'm wri-writing poetry about y-you, too."

He smiled, the image of Jongin doing his utmost to not shy away from holding his gaze being far too sweet.

Kyungsoo moved so that he lay on his side, forearm pressing into the ground of the roof as he looked down at the other so near to him.

"_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_"

Jongin's eyes widened, shining even brighter in the sky's light, glinting with recognition.

"_Thou art more lovely and more temperate._  
_Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, _  
_And summer's lease hath all too short a date._"

"_Sometime too ho-hot the eye of heaven shines, _  
_A-And often is his gold c-complexion dimm'd,_  
_And ev'ry fair fro-from fair sometime declines,_  
_By chance o-or Nature's changing course untrimmed;_"

Kyungsoo grinned, voice lowering as he leaned in marginally closer, following verses leaving him in just above a whisper.

"_But thy eternal summer shall not fade,_  
_Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st; _  
_Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,_  
_When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st._"

Their souls met in a dance permitted by their eyes, air trembling with anticipation and longing.

"_So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, _  
_So long lives this, and this gives life to thee._"

Jongin breathed each syllable, quiet as if afraid to break the invisible bond which had grown to unite them in that moment witnessed by the stars.

"Tha-That was －"

"Sonnet eighteen, by Shakespeare, yes."

"How come you －"

Kyungsoo found it impossible to wait and so chose not to, instead letting himself shrink the space between them until it was nothing, allowing his lips to meet Jongin's own cold ones, and carefully move against them.

It was the first kiss of many that they shared, amidst phrases of poetry and beauty, watched over by the universe that could do nothing to tear them apart.

When their lips were no longer pressed to one another, Kyungsoo offered a warm smile, eyes going over Jongin's shadowed face before settling once more on his gaze.

"It seems I have grown to like Shakespeare quite a bit, lately."


	9. °eight°

_Speak low if you speak love._

✾≠✾

  
The night of the performance drew nearer and nearer, and like the swaying of a pendulum in motion, so was Jongin's constant pacing.

"Kyungsoo," he whined, when the other kept chuckling at him and sketching some of the man's features upon his own copy of the script － which he ended up making since aiding Jongin with practicing his lines became common.

"C-Could you please focus?"

The one in question slid a palm down his mouth in attempts of wiping away his amused smile, but it did nothing to change the fact that he was obviously suppressing a grin.

"Right, right," he said, fitting the pencil behind his ear and shuffling onto his feet, boot buckles clinking against the planks of wood.

"Where were we?"

Jongin sighed, carded a hand through his lush hair and strode towards the artist, whose eyes followed his every move like a fox would watch its prey through shards of grass.

"Here," the taller mumbled, index finger setting upon the paper and pointing at Kyungsoo's lines.

"This pa-part."

"Alright," he cleared his throat, reading it over once while Jongin set space between them, preparing to get into his role.

"_Infirm of purpose. Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead －_"

"Kyu-Kyungsoo," Jongin interrupted, a pout on his rose gold lips, "Could you do i-it with a bit more. . . emotion?"

The man shrugged, gesturing to the actor with his script.

"Show me."

Jongin shifted on his feet, ears slightly blooming red as he gave a timid nod, staring down at his own papers even though he knew the lines like one knows how to spell their own name.

"_Infirm of p-purpose! Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the de-dead are but pictures. _  
_'Tis the eye of childhood that f-fears a painted devil._"

He breathed deeply, shakily, for the gaze upon his skin felt like a burn that kissed his every nerve, and he rose his irises but averted them from meeting the pair staring at him fondly.

"Something li-like that."

"You're beautiful."

The words settled in the air, whispered but carried across the dimly lit stage, yet not reaching the rows of profoundly shadowed seats, which grew into pure blackness the further they were from the three lights.

"I-I. . ."

Jongin's response remained trapped in his throat, his head dropping low as if it would hide the vibrant fuchsia on his tan cheeks.

Kyungsoo's lips turned upwards, warmth spreading in his chest and an abrupt urge causing him to walk to Jongin until their chests brushed, a hair incapable of passing amidst them.

Jongin tentatively rose his chin, wide eyes mimicking the expression of a deer caught in headlights, but a longing glinting in their endless brown.

Soft lips met one cheek and then the other, a sharp inhale and silent exhales fanning upon both faces.

Kyungsoo stood on his toes and nudged the tip of his nose against Jongin's, a smile on his mouth which the taller returned, bashfully.

"Don't be so tense, Jongin. The performance will go well, I assure you."

And, like magic, the actor's muscles melted free of their strained positions, his shoulders drooped and his grin turned lax.

Kyungsoo held a power over his body, heart and mind, and such a fact could be daunting and make some worry, but Jongin didn't care.

He trusted Kyungsoo.


	10. °nine°

_I love you more than words can wield the matter, _  
_Dearer than eyesight, space and liberty._

✾≠✾

The world of theatre was a hectic one, Kyungsoo came to acknowledge, for the day of the play was nothing short of panic and stress, people scampering about in a rush to complete last minute details and rehearse their roles as much as possible.

Jongin was obviously no different, knees bouncing whenever he sat and feet carrying him back and forth whenever he stood.

Unfortunately, that day was also the one during which Kyungsoo would have to present his project to his class and professor, which meant that he couldn't spend the morning by his partner's side.

See, Kyungsoo was not the type of person to get anxious. He'd formulate a plan and execute it, and if something went awry he'd simply change route.

That afternoon though, he found himself unable to stop constantly glancing at the time, counting each minute until his colleagues finished presenting their works and it would be his turn.

When his name was finally called from the roster, he shot from his seat and, carrying his work in both hands over the heads of those around him, went up to the front and centre of the room.

The bottom of the canvas thumped upon the easel and then he swivelled around to face his audience, hands clasped behind his back and fingers picking at the leather bracelets tied on his left wrist.

The expressions the faces before him adorned were enough to make him bloom with pride, not for himself, but rather because they were gawking at his muse, his love, and they could never have him.

"I call this piece, Adonis by the Flowers."

It was customary that those showing their works gave a light commentary about it, but Kyungsoo did no such thing. Instead, he waited a few seconds more, and then picked up the large canvas and brought it back to his seat.

He was content, but the feeling lasted not long enough, for the closer he was to being allowed to leave, the more desperately he wanted to be with Jongin during this nerve-wrecking event.

Liberation had never tasted as sweet as it did when Kyungsoo was able to step out of the room with the others, not bothering to walk coolly down the halls and deciding to run his way to the theatre department instead.

The man arrived with huffs and puffs, cheeks blotched red and dark eyes flitting around backstage until they settled upon a mumbling Jongin.

He smiled at seeing him － it came naturally.

Jongin had power over his soul, thoughts and emotions, and such a thing was frightening, scary, but Kyungsoo didn't care.

He trusted Jongin.


	11. °ten°

_A heart to love, and in that heart, _  
_Courage, to make love known._

✾≠✾

  
A flurry of costumes, colours, make-up and Macbeth was on the stage, wife edging him towards committing murder and portraying his every passing emotion.

The audience held their breaths and the audience gasped.

They clapped whenever the lights were dimmed and the crew would busy themselves with changing the scenery, setting up the props and adjusting microphones.

Kyungsoo watched the entire play from the left wing, behind the black curtains that cut him off from the diverse universe captured and portrayed on stage, and his heart swelled with admiration, even if hidden behind an expression which remained bleak.

It was hardly noticeable, that glimmer in his eyes which appeared every time Jongin spoke his lines particularly well, but it was there and present, behind his crossed arms and tightly shut lips.

Once the story had been told, and the actors had united upon the stage to take a bow accompanied by the rowdy applause they received, Kyungsoo let the happiness he felt rip through on his face, a grin holding his mouth wide and raising his apple cheeks.

Jongin didn't wait a moment extra before he rushed off the stage and into Kyungsoo's open, awaiting arms.

The latter briefly stumbled at the impact, but their embrace only strengthened and Jongin nestled his face into the crook of Kyungsoo's warm neck, smiling against his skin and breathing heavily with excitement.

"How d-did I do?"

His question was muffled, but the joy and anticipation lacing it couldn't be clearer to Kyungsoo's ears.

"You did great," he replied, hands releasing the material of Jongin's costume to instead rub up and down his spine, languidly yet strongly.

"The best Macbeth I have ever witnessed."

Jongin's slender arms tightened even more around Kyungsoo's torso, securely, as if he were too afraid to let go.

Off the stage, no longer under the powerful lights and exposed before the eyes of many, Jongin shed the skin of his persona, the character of his Macbeth, and was nothing more than he as himself, the person he truly was.

Kyungsoo was not holding so dearly onto a figment of one's fiction, but rather a reality perhaps too good for an undeserving world, an undeserving him.

Jongin － his muse, his love, his Adonis － was as real as he.

His scent wafting up into Kyungsoo's nose, his erratic breaths heating Kyungsoo's neck, his delicate skin rubbing against Kyungsoo's own; Jongin was real indeed, and Kyungsoo couldn't love him more than he already did.

A living masterpiece, his inner beauty reflected outwards for the world to see and admire, for Kyungsoo to reflect in his art.


	12. °epilogue°

_I know no ways to mince it in love, _  
_But directly to say 'I love you'._

✾≠✾

Kyungsoo had an odd way of being. One foot in a world of straight facts and tidiness, the other in a world of a thousand ideas, a myriad of emotions, a rainbow of colours.

Jongin was a mystery within himself, despite it not being blatant. A man of many faces and a man of many personalities, one of shyness and confidence, a risk-taker and a rule-breaker.

They were both epitomes of contradiction.

It was not by luck nor by the will of a higher entity that the two met, but faith had it that they did and Cupid had it that they loved.

The two were not opposites of each other, far from it.

They shared similarities and often had twin ways of thought, whilst occassionally differing and clashing.

It was the beauty of their love, the essence of their unification, for whatever one lacked, the other had, and whatever one disliked, the other appreciated.

More than opposites, they were two pieces meant for each other, slotted perfectly together to work their way through life as one.

They travelled the world, saw many wonders and met hundreds of people, and no matter their location, no matter their situation, they had their love.

They wed and adopted two children, a boy and a girl they raised with their affection and care, in a house near a park and the school their little ones attended.

Kyungsoo's hand never halted its creative habits and Jongin's face never stopped taking on the masks of others, but they lived harmoniously in a warmth they created.

The path of life is smooth for no one, and yet they walked along it holding each other's hands, intertwining their fingers even when they fought, for true love has no ways of breaking.

Their children became teens and then they became adults.

The couple became middle-aged and then they became old, but with a shaky grasp Kyungsoo's paintbrush painted, and with a hollowing face Jongin modelled.

Age did not steal the man's glory from the artist's eyes.

With crow's feet and smile wrinkles, Jongin remained Kyungsoo's most favourite blessing of nature, glowing even in his tired skin and deeper voice.

When Death arrived, creeping upon them in the night, he took the one and left the other, deeming it too early for the human to leave. Kyungsoo should have known that the beautiful paintings are the ones which get stolen first.

He danced his own dance and greeted Death with a smile nonetheless, for by his side stood the love of his life, smiling back at him as young and as timid as the day he was, the first time they met.

Kyungsoo took his hand and, as they had done through all their years in life, they did in their years in death, for they found strength in each other and carried on along the path before them, united by their touch.

And so they were halves of a whole; Jongin who belonged to the world of theatre but held the beauty of art, and Kyungsoo who belonged to the world of art but had the poetry of theatre.

A love which blossomed against the volition of the universe, but lived on for an eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks a lot for reading!


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